


Trying To Call Home

by rubycrowned



Series: Trying To Call Home [1]
Category: 1D - Fandom, One Direction, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, NC-17, So much angst, jumbled timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 08:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubycrowned/pseuds/rubycrowned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with 1D, I do not presume to know anything about their personal lives</p><p>A/N: So apparently I listened to the lyrics of Maroon 5's "Payphone" last weekend for the first time properly and went from "oh they're actually quite sad" to "omg this would make great Lourry angst". Awesome. And then it continued to spiral out of control for the next week. Thanks to my beta's, especially drivetothestars. More notes at bottom of post.</p><p>Summary: If happy ever afters did exist, I would still be holding you like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trying To Call Home

_Please pick up, come on Haz, please pick up the phone._

Louis shivered against the cold. The phone box kept him sheltered from the rain which pelted the glass, but his clothes were already soaked through to his skin, and he fought another shudder as a drop of icy water fell from his hair to run under his collar.

He wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten here. He didn’t know how he’d made it to be standing in the rain, at eleven at night, looking up towards Harry’s apartment, trying to make out shadows in the darkness of the windows. Or why he was standing in a phone box across the road, nervously clutching the phone until his knuckles turned white, unable to bring himself to walk the distance to the door, to see the face of the person Louis loved best;  _or worst,_ a voice in his head whispers at him.

But most of all, Louis didn’t know how he’d gotten to this point.

“Hello?”

Louis gasped audibly as the husky voice resonated through the phone. His head was filled with a rush of brown curls and soft kisses, too beautiful and too open green eyes, a chorus of  _IloveyounoLouiswait_ crashing through his memories. He stifled a sob that threatened to choke its way out of him.

“Hey, Harry,” he whispered, cringing as his throat hitched, voice catching on the familiar name, “its Louis.”

***

“Hey.”

Louis blinks his eyes open to find himself face to face with wide green eyes which crinkle at the corners as their owner grins and ducks down to press a quick kiss to his lips, then disappear as Harry flops onto the bed next to Louis, soft, sleep-mussed curls bouncing to hide his face.

Louis pushes himself up onto his elbows, glancing over sleepily at the boy next to him. He uncharacteristically hesitates from reaching out to touch the long torso stretched out before him, still in slight disbelief that all this was  _his_  now.

“Quit. Staring.”

An arm shoots up and grabs Louis in a lazy headlock, tugging him to Harry’s side. Louis twists around to lightly kiss the underside of Harry’s jaw, murmuring a quiet “Hey yourself,” into the warmth of his neck.

It’s in these quiet moments, when it’s just the two of them, that Louis can forget the craziness of his life. Away from the screaming fangirls, the constant attention and flashing lights.  Away even from the three boys he considers as his brothers, who glance quickly, never judging, but occasionally with concerned frowns tugging at their mouths. Away from the things that he loves about his life, but which are continual reminders that his life isn’t his own. Away from everything else, it was him and Harry.

And for a short while, he is home.

***

“ _No._  NO.”

Harry is pulling at Louis’ top, slender fingers pinching his skin slightly where his t-shirt is stretched tightly against his chest. Louis can’t even stop him, still too stunned to grasp his boyfriend’s wrists, to press soothing apologies to the angry tears starting to spill from too full eyes.

“Come on, Harry. It’s going to be okay. It’ll only be temporary-” Liam tries his best to placate his injured band mate, while attempting to separate the one from the other. _Like that has ever been possible._

“I said  _no_. They can’t do this.  _I_  can’t do this. They can’t just expect-” Harry’s voice cracks and he can’t seem to continue, too many emotions playing across his face to control.

“Harry,” Zayn reaches from behind to wrap his arms around his friend, refusing to be dislodged by the aggressive shrugging of Harry’s shoulders. “Hey now, mate. Harryharryharry. C’mon, yeah? Lets wipe up that pretty face of yours. Can’t have all the girls thinking their Harry’s upset when we leave, can we?” He manages to pry Harry’s fingers from Louis’ shirt, hands dropping to twitch agitatedly at his sides. After receiving a jerky nod of agreement, Zayn slowly leads this somewhat quietened Harry, who is still trying to control jagged intakes of breath, towards the adjoining bathroom.

Liam moves to place a steadying hand on Louis’ shoulder, who still can’t quite figure out how to move his limbs again. A forlorn Niall stands halfway between them and the door Zayn and Harry had left through. His eyes are shining and Louis feels a stab of guilt at catching Niall up in their problems; the blonde lad was so loving, and never could bear to see his best friends fighting.

Before Louis can manage to lift an arm and reach out, offering himself to Niall for a warm embrace, all three heads jerk towards the door. Until then, only low murmurings had been heard from the other room. But, suddenly, a loud outburst had everyone’s attention.

“ _No Zayn. I can’t_ \- I WILL NOT BE YOU, OKAY?”

An oppressive silence follows, the kind that presses down on you until you can hardly breathe, and Louis can feel the flinch as Liam’s hand tightens its grip. But when Louis lifts his head to look at him, Liam’s face is carefully blank. If Louis can catch a slight tremor in Liam’s breathing, well, who is he to say anything?

Louis turns his attention back to Niall and manages to pull him in for that much needed hug, clinging just a little too desperately to his familiar frame.

“Well, we haven’t had a management meeting that eventful in a while, have we?” His voice only shakes slightly as he tries to pull his face into a faint smile. He fails, but no-one can see Louis’ broken expression in their three person hug, bodies trying to stretch and fill the gaps left by the other two.

Such a delicate balance, their dynamic is.

And apparently it only takes one name to send them all tumbling.

Eleanor.

***

The silence seemed to stretch on forever.

Louis started to think he had been hung up on. It was no more than he deserved, really. He slowly let out a breath that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. More to himself than anything, he sighed under his breath, “Harry...”

A loud, crunching thump came from the phone, accompanied by a strangled-sounding cry of emotion. Louis noted dully the pain in his knuckles as he gripped the hand piece even tighter. It was nothing compared to the pain tearing through his chest at the wounded sound that had echoed through the speaker.  _Even now,_ still _, you’re hurting him._

“Please, Haz, are you okay?”

“What do you th- no. You do not get to call me that. Not anymore.”

Just the sound of Harry’s voice, broken and twisted as it was, was cathartic to Louis. His only wish at that moment was to erase the pain in Harry’s tone, and to bring back the smile which set a million hearts alight.  _If you’re going to wish, you might as well wish for the impossible, Tommo._ “I just- you were the only one I wanted to call. You always were.”

“Louis.” Even now, hearing Harry say his name sends a flutter of heat low in his abdomen. He shoves it to the back of his mind, focusing on what Harry had to say.

“Now? Really?” They both heard the tremor in Harry’s voice at the question, but the next words came through clear and steady, sending a very different feeling to the pit of Louis’ stomach.

“It’s been almost two  _years_.”

***

“Hey.”

Louis lets out a sleepy groan before blinking his eyes open, moaning again as the bright light streams in from the windows, blinding him temporarily. Slowly the face above him comes back into focus, soft giggles emanating from within the halo of brown locks.

Deep brown eyes stare back down at him, and Louis gives a startled gasp.

“You okay?” the definitely-female voice asks him, slight hesitancy creeping into her tone.

 _Oh no. Date night. Ohshitoshitohshit._ “What? No, yeah...just my head hurts like crazy.” It isn’t a lie; moving in surprise was definitely  _not_  the brightest idea Louis had ever had,  _although probably still one of your better ones in the past 24 hours by the looks of things._

Eleanor gives a small grin and pecks him on the cheek as she leans over to the bedside table, her long hair tickling Louis’ nose and making him scrunch his eyes.

“I thought you might be needing these this morning. I hope you don’t mind; I found the painkillers in the bathroom.”

Louis slowly props himself up, gratefully taking the proffered water and tablets. As he takes them, he tries to eye Eleanor subtly, sprawled out on the other side of the bed, pressing buttons on her phone.

Last night was one of his and Eleanor’s ‘date nights’, as management called them. The boys were more likely to refer to them as ‘taking-Louis’-beard-for-a-walk’, or something equally as witty. Louis might have laughed under other circumstances, but it only ever took a glance at Harry to see the strain in his features and any hint of a smile would fall away.

This time, Harry had been in an even worse mood than usual. Louis couldn’t really blame him; the two of them had planned an entire day for just them (bar the evening, which they didn’t talk about). It was so rare that they had a full weekend off that they were looking forward to a lazy day filled only with the other.

Then management had called late the night beforehand, letting Louis know that Eleanor would be meeting him late morning; a good opportunity for the paparazzi to see the pair out and about.

Harry had...not been best pleased. They had fought about it - what was now an old argument - ending in angry, almost violent sex; Louis had been left covered in marks, sucked and bitten into his skin, branding Louis as “Mine, always mine, Lou,” Harry had almost growled as he worked a particularly large bruise into his hip bone. Both were left exhausted, unsleeping and unsatisfied.

He had left the next morning, extricating himself unwillingly from the possessive tangle of limbs that Harry had bound him in, even in sleep. He brushed a light kiss to Harry’s brow, murmuring an “I’ll see you tonight, love. Go visit the boys, you know Nialler’s been dying to beat you and Zayn at FIFA,” into his ear before he pulled away.

“Mmm, unlikely,” Harry muttered thickly, still half asleep.

Louis chuckled under his breath, allowing himself one last ruffle of the curly haired mess in front of him, then walking softly out, shutting the door quietly behind him.

***

Later, silence became almost the third person in a strange ménage a trios of their relationship.

Before, there was always noise. Happy noise. Giggling and squealing and banter. Shouts, and crashes as play-fights got out of control. Laughter. Even in the calm moments, there was a murmured lullaby into the wilderness of Harry’s curls; a breathy sigh of contentment.

Later, even their breath seemed restrained, as if frightened it might shatter whatever delicate fibres were barely holding them together, trembling under the strain.

***

He felt almost guilty, out in the sun with Eleanor, laughing at a story she had told about one of her friends. The truth was, Louis had found a friend in Eleanor, and he had grown genuinely fond of her over the past few months. She was light and cheerful, uncomplicated, which in a way was just what Louis needed right then. He tried not to think too much about the fact that he wouldn’t  _need_  cheering up if it wasn’t for management springing Eleanor on them in the first place. But walking along the pavement, tangled hands swinging gently between them, it felt nice. Right, even.

So Louis was relieved when he received a txt from Harry mid-afternoon. “ _ok so mayb nialls bettr @ fifa than i thought :S goin out with z tonite. C u l8r boo xo”_ He was glad Harry was having fun without him; he deserved to go have a good time.

He and Eleanor continued their stroll; they stopped for ice-cream, Eleanor dabbing at the tip of Louis’ nose to swipe off a spot, winking cheekily as she sucked her finger clean. They stopped in at a few stores, buying the odd item; Louis bought Eleanor a small stuffed-toy, then proceeded to send her into a fit of shrieking giggles as he attacked her with it, making smooching noises as he pressed the fluffy dog repeatedly to her face, and shoulders as she tried to run away from him. It was all fairly standard Louis-behaviour to be honest, but the press would lap it up, and Louis was rather enjoying himself, flushed with the slight exertion combined with the giggling fit it had left him in.

The day progressed smoothly into dinner at the restaurant management had booked earlier in the week. Looking around, Louis had thought it was somewhere he probably would have chosen himself if he were taking Harry out for a meal. The family-owned eatery was a nice place, but not too fancy. A large open wood fire and cozy atmosphere made it just a little bit special, but you could still have a casual meal, and the menu, filled with classic steak and chicken dishes (there was even a gourmet burger he could picture Niall demolishing quite happily), made it one of the few places where Louis could actually figure out what on earth it was he was ordering. He imagined bringing Harry for a date, but passing it off as just a meal out between best mates; sort of the exact opposite of what his meal with Eleanor was.

As Eleanor let out another peal of laughter at a story of Liam’s most recent exasperation over Louis and Niall’s pranks on Zayn, Louis grinned widely. Eleanor’s laugh had become an increasingly present part of their time together, and he was just starting to realise how much he enjoyed the sound. It was different to Harry’s, which was one of Louis’ favourite sounds in the world; while Harry had a deep-throated chuckle, or an insanely loud guffaw, which seemed to surprise even him at times as it burst from him, Eleanor usually produced a decidedly girlish, tinkling laugh. But as they had seen each other more often, Louis found that, when she was really delighted by something, she had a full-bellied laugh that had her clutching her sides, and without fail had Louis doubled over with her. It had taken a while for her to let that side of her out, almost as if she was unsure if she should. Of course, Eleanor was completely in the loop, she knew what her role was in the charade, and was fine with it, Louis thought, but she seemed as unsure as he was at times about where exactly the boundaries between them lay. And now that Louis had discovered this less-controlled El, he had made it his mission to bring her out as often as possible.

Having finished dinner, and knowing that Harry would likely be out ‘til the wee hours, Louis suggested to Eleanor they make a proper night of it and get a couple drinks before heading off. He really had thoroughly enjoyed himself, as little as he had been looking forward to it only that morning, and he wasn’t quite ready to say goodnight yet.

Surprisingly (although why he was surprised Louis had no idea, really), a couple drinks turned into quite a few, and then several more for good measure. Everything had turned hazy by this point, but Louis clearly remembers looking over at Eleanor, cheeks pleasantly flushed with alcohol, and thinking ( _or did he tell her?_ ) how really drop dead gorgeous she was. She had blushed deeper at the comment ( _oh right, he must have told her then_ ), and no really, Louis just couldn’t understand it.  _Liking Eleanor would be so much easier_ , his booze-soaked brain told him. She was kind, she laughed hard and often at his jokes, she was ridiculously hot, and management  _clearly_ approved of her.  _Harry_ , a nagging voice in the back of his mind murmured, but it was lost in the fog at some point, and when Eleanor leaned forward to press her lips to his, Louis couldn’t quite figure out why they hadn’t tried this earlier.

And then, apparently, Louis had done something awful.

***

Watching Eleanor now,  _the morning after_ , Louis feels torn.  And that makes him feel even worse. His stomach roils, and he fights the nausea threatening to rise in his gut.

When did it even become a possibility that this ‘beard’ would ever move past a show for the cameras? When did Louis decide that cheating on the boyfriend he loved more than anything he had ever felt before, whose fingers he could still feel in the dull throb as he lay on one of the bruises still marking his skin, might be an option? When did Eleanor move from cover story, to friend, to someone Louis considers sort of beautiful, still busy on her phone, lounging comfortably in a singlet and underwear on his bed. As if she could feel him thinking of her, Eleanor tilts her head back to look up at him, a shy smile brightening her face. As if on autopilot, Louis grins back, ignoring the throb in his head as he ducks down to quickly join their lips.

No-one ever expected Louis to fall for Eleanor. Least of all Louis.

“Mornin’, Lou...I feel rotten, remind me to never agree to-  _what the FUCK is going on?_ ”

***

“I don’t get it. I’m with you every night; we go out, we have some fun, yeah we stay home and watch the telly a bit, but what’s wrong with that? I know it’s not as exciting as it used to be, but nothing’s like it was then is it?” Louis bites his lip as he tries not to compare to the life he had two years ago.

“But that’s it, isn’t it, Lou? You’re  _not_  here with me – no, don’t argue with me, not anymore, okay?” Eleanor shakes a hand roughly through her hair. “You’re there. Still.” _With him_ , the silent words hang heavily between them.

“But I chose you.”

Neither of them call the lie.

It can’t be coming to this.

Not after everything.

“I just...I can’t. Go home, Louis.”

But he can’t.

That option was lost to him a long time ago.

***

“I know.” The words were so quiet Louis couldn’t guarantee Harry heard them at all. “ _God_ , do I know. So many times, Harry, do you know how often-”

Louis wanted to tell Harry how many times - mostly in the days, weeks, months after the band split up, but some were times almost embarrassingly recent,  _El really did see through it all didn’t she_  – he would contemplate calling him, stopped only by the shame. He couldn’t, it would have been too cruel;  _Louis_  left  _Harry_. He couldn’t call. But all he wanted was to hear his voice. He knew he couldn’t call his cell, it would come up that he’d called. His lowest point was probably asking Zayn for Harry’s new home number, who just looked at him sadly and shook his head. “You know I can’t do that, Lou.”

Louis couldn’t make eye contact with Zayn for a long time after that, not with all the grief and pity in those dark eyes. He was dealing with his own shit, Louis shouldn’t have been dumping his own on him. In the end, finding his new number had been far too easy; who would’ve thought Harry  _Styles_ would be listed in the phonebook. No-one a couple years back. Instead, at the time, Louis would hide, from Eleanor, from the world. Then he would play old twitcams, old X-Factor videos. Anything to hear Harry’s voice again. He wouldn’t watch them though. He couldn’t stand seeing Harry’s face, so close to his, when they were so happy, so in love. Everything hurt.

He didn’t tell Harry those things though.

“ _I’m sorry. You have no credit remaining for this call. To call back, or call another number, please insert additional coins. Thank-you.”_

Heart sinking, Louis scrambled furiously, as he tried to locate a forgotten stash of coins he was almost certain he didn’t have. Failing, he slammed his fists against the wall of the booth, before he rested his forehead against the cool glass in defeat, feeling the heavy rain pound the other side.

 _No, Tomlinson_. Apparently some small part of Louis still held some spirit, some hope.  _This is not the time to give up. You are here, you spoke to Harry for the first time in nearly two years, you have_ nothing _left to lose._

He thinks of Harry. He thinks of  _sunshinewarmthhappy_.

He is outside Harry’s flat. Finger on the intercom.

 “Please, Harry. I know you don’t want to see me right now. But, please.”

“Why should I?” The words are filled with scepticism and a world weariness Louis had never heard from Harry before.

“I-Me and Eleanor. We...we aren’t. Anymore.”

Silence.

Stretching onwards.

The door buzzes open.

***

Louis finds himself half-heartedly apologizing to Eleanor as he proceeds to, as delicately as possible, kick her out. She understands. She always understands.

But he’s more focused on the crashing sounds coming from outside the bedroom. They conclude with a final slam of the door as Harry storms from the apartment.

Louis tries to call him, txt him, anything. No response. He’s not sure he expected one.

With Eleanor out the door as well – that goodbye was definitely one of the most awkward Louis had had – he leans against the front door briefly, then runs to get some sweatpants and a hoodie that is probably Harry’s before kicking some Toms onto his feet and running out the flat. He doesn’t have far to go; he only has to make it down the corridor before he’s banging on Zayn’s door. “Please, Harry, let me in,  _please_.”

“You know it’s actually my flat that you’re trying to bust your way into, right? I’d rather like it if the door stayed in one piece if it’s all the same to you.” Zayn cracks the door enough to stick his head into the hallway, allowing Louis to hear the bang of a door shutting further inside the flat. Zayn’s eyes are bloodshot, and Louis realises that he’s probably as hungover as Louis is. And Harry.

“I just need to talk to Harry, Zayn.”

“Yeah, I gathered that from your hollering,” Zayn gives him a questioning look, “and that’s great, mate, but 10 minutes ago I was woken pretty rudely by our Haz. And he was a mess. I dunno what you guys were fighting about this early, but he’s seriously upset. So I don’t know that letting you in right now’s the best thing for either of you. Or my flat.”

“I did something stupid, Zayn.”

Zayn snorts, “Well what’s new about that? You’d have thought Harry’d be used to-”

“I slept with Eleanor.”

“You WHAT?” The door jerks open in Zayn’s surprise, and he shoves Louis further in the hallway before shutting it behind the two of them. “What the  _hell_ were you thinking?”

“I just...I don’t...we were-”

“Oh my god. What the fuck are you up to, Lou?” Zayn pounds the wall behind them, and Louis can’t help feeling he wished it was Louis’ face. “She is supposed to be the  _cover_ , Louis. Jesus, fuck, do you not realise how hard it’s been for Harry? Watching you go off with  _her_ , leaving him alone while you play happy couples in the sun?”

“I know...but he was having a good time yesterday wasn’t he? It hasn’t exactly been a cup of tea me either, you know-”

“Are you fucking  _kidding_  me? Louis you did not just try and defend yourself when you went and screwed around on  _your boyfriend_. Our mate. The one that I’ve been comforting for months now,  _assuring_ him that he shouldn’t worry, that of course Louis wouldn’t do anything, because he loves him, because it wasn’t the same as-” Zayn falters in his rant, and Louis would try to rub his shoulder in support if he didn’t still look as though he would love nothing more than to break something, some part of Louis preferably. “Because it’s Louis and Harry.”

Maybe Zayn managed to break Louis anyway. Physical pain probably would have hurt less. “I do love him, Zayn. So, so much.”

Zayn’s anger seems to have petered out. That or he doesn’t think Louis’ worth the energy anymore. Either way, he drops his head, giving Louis a slight shove towards the wall as he turns his back to return to the flat. He turns his head slightly as he walks through the door “It sure don’t look like it, Lou.”

All the energy Louis had a few moments ago disappears almost as quickly as it had come on. His headache comes back in full force, and as he slumps against the wall he has to suppress the urge to vomit right there in the hall.

He makes it back to his flat, falling onto the couch and dragging a thick blanket over him. Maybe, if he can just go to sleep, he will wake and it will all have been a dream.

***

The official line is that the boys had collectively decided to end the band. That “they feel they have grown up as part of One Direction, but that they also feel that they have grown past it and now need to find themselves as individuals. All the boys still love each other very much and want to thank all the fans who have shown them so much support and made the ride such an enjoyable experience.”

No one really believes it.

It doesn’t explain the way that several concerts have to be refunded, sold out in happier days when they wanted nothing more than to sing and tour and be together forever.

It didn’t explain the tearful comments they’d been receiving for months from fangirls (and Sugarscape), worried that the boys were breaking apart; that Harry didn’t sit next to Louis anymore, that they had stopped producing video diaries, that Liam was the only one to have done a twitcam in almost a year.

Management wants to kill them, Louis’ pretty convinced. But they’ve finally,  _finally_  realised that sometimes management gets it wrong. That sometimes they need to do things their own way.

_Too bad we didn’t figure it out sooner._

***

Liam finds him, still on the sofa, several hours later. Louis isn’t asleep; it had evaded him, mind too disturbed by guilt and other, more complicated feelings which he really didn’t want to be considering. He’s a little surprised it had taken Liam this long to turn up, but then Liam was pretty good at letting them all stew when they knew they’d done something really wrong. Louis had almost tried to talk to Niall earlier, but then realised he was too scared he’d look in his eyes and see hatred. He didn’t think he could handle that, not from Niall.

“Time for Daddy Direction to give me my lecture, then?” He regrets the words almost as soon as they spill from his mouth, but Liam just shoves at Louis’ legs ‘til he shifts, then sits down heavily next to him on the sofa.

“Don’t be an even bigger dick, you twat.” Liam’s voice isn’t nearly as pissed as Louis had expected, and he raises his eyes to look at Liam, to be met with an almost concerned expression. He sighs and continues speaking, softly, “What happened, Lou?”

Louis hesitates at the kindness in Liam’s tone. This isn’t how this had played out in his mind. But this is probably the only chance he would have to tell the full story, or as full as he could remember. So, he tells Liam. Everything.

“How did this happen, Li?”

Liam pulls Louis into a rough embrace. “I dunno. But is has.”

Louis sobs brokenly into the curve of Liam’s neck. “I fucked it all up. We were happy. And I fucked it up.”

“Do you love Eleanor?”

Louis pulls back slightly, pausing to give the question the consideration it deserved.

“I don’t know. Not like Harry.”

“Well you better hope it’s still enough.”

Liam sits with Louis into the night. Louis is pretty sure he’s the only thing holding him together. Not whole, though. The time for that has past.

***

Harry returned to their flat the next day, silent defeat hanging off the lines of his sloping shoulders as he padded his way towards his bedroom. Liam, in all his wisdom, had arranged schedule changes to allow an extra couple days off, pleading fatigue. It would mean double the interviews for a few days, but there was no way they could function anywhere close to normal in this state.

Louis was on the couch again, alone this time, and he sat up, reaching out and pleading with eyes Harry refused to meet. “Harry...”

Silence.

“I love you.”

Harry stiffened slightly, but barely paused to turn his head in Louis’ direction. “No, Louis.”

“Wait.”

The door thudded shut behind him.

***

They all promised that they’d still see each other all the time.  _Almost all of them anyway._

It had been the five of them for so long, how could they not?

Life happened, Louis supposed.

Liam did what they had never managed to do first time round; make it as a solo act. They all knew that if anyone did it, it’d be him. He was always the focused one, the responsible one, arguably the one with the most natural talent. But the boys all knew how hard he worked himself to get there; how close he’d come to burnout, more than once, before the boys would stage an intervention (they joked and made a banner and everything, but it was always a solemn moment when they convinced Liam to just  _stop_ ).

Louis worried every now and again how Liam would cope without the rest of them there to drag him to bed, or for a drink (not that Liam would ever have more than a coke), or to judge a pouting contest between Zayn and Louis while Harry poked faces at them and Niall tried not to choke too severely on his pack of crisps.

But he was doing well. His first album had been a success, probably boosted by the fans still hanging on from the One Direction days, but with some encouraging reviews where it mattered as well. He was busy writing songs for the next album last Louis had heard; they usually rang each other every couple of weeks or so, although the conversations weren’t as long as they used to be. But Eleanor and Danielle kept in regular contact, so Louis was fairly up to date on most things.

Danielle. She was good for Liam. She had stuck through the One Direction years, and the downfall, and now the solo career. She was the reason Louis didn’t worry as much as he might have about Liam (or that’s what he tells himself). Liam had proposed in the new year, and so wedding preparations were keeping the both of them busy, trying to coordinate around recordings and tours and press mania. Danielle loved Liam, and Liam loved her.

But she was also the reason Louis was pretty sure Liam and Zayn weren’t much closer these days than he and Harry were.

Louis never knew exactly what went down between his two friends, but he pays closer attention than people seem to expect. That and they really weren’t particularly subtle about it.

Zayn. You couldn’t miss the way he doted on Liam. He might not have been as overtly handsy about it as Harry and Louis tended to be, but he came close at times. And the glances, Louis almost felt like he was invading Zayn’s privacy sometimes; the other lad clearly oblivious that anyone else had noticed.

And Liam was obviously fond of Zayn; he was the only band mate Liam seemed totally comfortable with the complete lack of personal space that they had come to be known for (except maybe for Louis, but then Louis had never really given them much of a choice in that, and they all got used to it eventually).

They were best mates; but Zayn wanted more, that much Louis could tell. But Liam had Danielle. And while Louis couldn’t say whether there was a part of Liam that wanted Zayn just as much, he was pretty certain nothing had ever happened between them.

He was also pretty certain that that was what slowly broke Zayn. What caused his occasional fits of melancholy. What caused him to side so quickly and so intensely with Harry through the entire Eleanor saga and beyond. Maybe what caused Liam to be so supportive of Louis through the ordeal as well. Maybe Liam really did have some complicated feelings for Zayn; Louis probably would never know now, but either way, he had been there, he didn’t envy their situation.

So he didn’t blame Zayn for how he’d acted, not at all; he did miss his friend though. As ill suited as they might have appeared from the outside, Louis often considered him his closest friend out of his bandmates, excepting Harry of course, and the thought that he’d lost that was just another scar to add to the collection.

Zayn had cut himself out of the spotlight since One Direction. He went a little bit off the rails when they first split, grieving, Louis supposed, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be more or less buried by the publicists which all the boys maintained for the first year after. And he had Harry; they seemed to have helped each other through, even sharing a flat for a few weeks before Harry found somewhere more permanent.

The past year, Zayn had enrolled into uni. He’d managed to make up his A levels and now he was studying with the aim of becoming an art teacher. He seemed happy. Louis had managed to salvage some sort of relationship with him; they met most weeks for coffee at a small place off campus, and they’d chat about what they were up to, Zayn’s studies.

But it wasn’t the same as the easy friendship they had before. Too many subjects were closed off. They didn’t speak of Liam. They didn’t speak of Harry.

They did sometimes speak of Niall. Another scar Louis tries to hide away. Their bubbly, blonde babe of the band. He was the baby, whether or not he was the youngest didn’t matter. He was the one that the rest of them went out of their way to protect. Whether that meant giving him a particularly big hug after a long day, or keeping an eye on him in the sheer masses of fans and paparazzi they had to fight through, it was the unspoken rule that everyone protects Niall.

But then the split happened. And everyone was broken in their own way. And everyone forgot the blue-eyed lad whose laughter had been corked, and whose smile seemed to have disappeared through the cracks turned to crevasses beneath their feet.

He had returned to Ireland, returned to his family and the life he’d left behind, that he’d missed so much when he was with the boys. Maybe that was why Niall seemed the most successful at adjusting to life after the band. He loved the boys, but there was always a part of him that Louis knew wished to be home. So he healed. And now he was the one who continued to make the most effort to maintain those two facets of his life. Louis knew he called or skyped all the boys regularly, and every couple of months - more often if there was a birthday or he had a meeting - he'd make the trip down to London for a catch up. They were something Louis was pretty sure they all looked forward to; but there were always gaps, and Louis had seen Niall's face drop for a moment at the one, if not two empty chairs as he looked around the table.

Niall was doing well for himself. Like the rest of them, he'd had to take some time out to mourn their losses; like Liam, he'd then decided to stay in the music industry doing what he loved. This time, Niall was staying behind the scenes. He had started writing some really nice songs, and had even helped compose some of the music for a few of his tracks. A couple had been picked up by some pretty huge artists, and Louis knew he was collaborating on several of Liam's new songs. There was even talk of a duet being released for the album.

But two was not five. Things were not the same.

Louis knew everyone else was recovering, that One Direction was slowly becoming 'that thing they used to do'. But not him.

There were a lot of 'but's in Louis' life. And Louis couldn't even bring himself to make the childish joke anymore.

***

They work through it, initially. There isn’t any emotional outburst, no argument that fills the flat and leaves them both wrecked. It is a sleepy wordless plea, Louis standing in Harry’s doorway, shivering in only his sweatpants, and Harry shuffling slightly, making just enough room for a Louis-sized body to slide in behind him, who hesitantly wraps his hands around Harry, securing his back to Louis’ front.

Louis feels small, silent sobs shuddering through Harry’s body and, holding back his own, he softly softly scatters apologies across the other boy’s shoulder; met without refusal, he continues to press gentle kisses up his neck, promises of  _Ineedwantloveyou_ whispering into the shell of his ear. Harry turns in Louis’ arms, sorrow burning his lovely eyes as he stares, before crushing their lips together. It is desperate, Louis can feel it in both of them, can still taste the salt of Harry’s tears when he pauses for breath and mouths along Harry’s jaw until he is pulled back once again. Harry is in control and Louis is more than willing, wanting any part of Harry he is offered, unable to ask for anything but perhaps, forgiveness, and lets himself be carried away in the feel of Harry’s bare skin under his hands as Harry licks wetly into Louis’ mouth.

They are quiet. Not silent, but their tone is kept subdued, only breathy moans and panting breaths piercing the darkness as Harry rolls Louis onto his back, mouthing sloppily down his torso to tug Louis’ sweatpants off, his erection bouncing up when released. Louis’ hands are entwined in Harry’s curls, and he pulls on them lightly, a silent beg to bring the other boy’s mouth back to find his own. Harry, as usual, had been sleeping naked, and as he leans up to comply with Louis, the slight friction of their cocks rubbing against each other causes Louis to gasp into Harry’s mouth. He reaches between them, attempting to grasp both their cocks and jerk them off slightly, to release some of the tension already starting to build. Without unsealing their mouths, Harry moves his arm and removes Louis’ slowly pumping fist, instead pulling it up and securing it under his own above Louis’ head, then doing the same with Louis' other hand, still knotted tightly in Harry’s hair. Pulling back slightly, he gives Louis a look, who resists the urge to roll his eyes and instead nods his submission, swallowing thickly; he would play by the rules, no touching for Louis.

Apparently convinced by Louis’ sincerity, Harry releases his grip, leaning over and fumbling for lube and a condom in the drawer next to his bed. He’s more rushed than Louis had believed him to be up ‘til then; he fumbles in his haste as he coats two fingers with lube, giving Louis a brief tug with his other hand before sliding a wet finger into him. Louis can’t bite down on his groan; it slips out as Harry wastes no time in pushing a second finger in, scissoring slightly. He wants to whisper nonsense to Harry, to tell him how hot he looks, stroking himself lightly as he prepares Louis, to tell him to hurry up and fuck him already. But he senses that speaking isn’t what tonight is for, that it might shatter the delicate truce they’ve formed in the late hour. Instead he releases a low moan and bucks his hips into the empty air, moving his hands to fist in the sheets so he won’t break his promise in order to get some delicious friction for his throbbing cock. Harry looks up to meet his eyes; he must feel the same urgency because he slips his fingers from Louis, who tries not to whine at the loss. He slicks himself under Louis’ half-lidded gaze, pulling himself up to kiss Louis messily for a moment before Harry pushes slowly into him.

Louis’ still tight from the hurried preparation and Harry stretching him burns, but Louis still arches his back, reaching to grasp Harry’s arse in an attempt to pull him in further. It might be against Harry’s rule, but he doesn’t seem to be enforcing it right now, going so far as to encourage the behaviour by rewarding him with a fist enclosing Louis’ dick, his other hand gripping Louis’ hip for balance, thumb digging into the fading bruise sitting over the bone. Louis can feel the pressure in him rising, knows he won’t be able to last much longer as Harry finds the spot which sends pleasure shooting through him. His breathing gets more erratic and, as he lifts one hand up to brush along Harry’s cheekbone and their eyes lock, he knows Harry’s barely hanging on too.

Louis pulls Harry in, lifting his head up as much as he can to meet him for a brief tangle of lips and tongue until Harry pulls back, jerking his hips more rapidly, starting to lose some of his rhythm. His fist tightens around Louis’ cock and it’s too much, he can’t help but cry out Harry’s name as he spills his release between them; he clamps down on Harry inside him and the sudden extra pressure is apparently more than Harry can take either, he lasts only a few more uneven thrusts before coming, choking out a wordless sob.

He pulls out, silently passing Louis a few tissues to clean up a bit as he disposes of the condom over the side of the bed to get rid of later, then curling up into Louis’ side, curls tickling Louis’ face as Harry’s head worms into his neck. Louis pretends he doesn’t see the fresh tear tracks running down Harry’s face to pool on Louis’ chest. Instead he softly cards his fingers through Harry’s sweat-dampened hair, continuing until long after the younger boy’s snuffles even out into the deep, slow breaths of sleep.

***

Harry and Louis’ truce lasts almost a week.

They still don’t talk about it; what happened, what it meant. That seems to be a violation, and any time Louis attempts to start the conversation he is quickly silenced by insistent lips against his. They spend the week edging around the issue, although attempting to return to some sort of normalcy when they return to interviews and the studio. Louis knows that Harry hasn’t forgiven him yet, and that denial of the issue won’t be able to work forever, but for now he’s going to let Harry do this his way, and Louis will just take what he can get.

The other boys give them odd looks at times, but largely seem to leave them alone to sort through their shit themselves.

And then the weekend arrives and management has organised another photo op for Louis and Eleanor. They’d called Louis on Thursday, but he hadn’t been able to figure out how to broach the subject to Harry without being dragged into the nearest empty room before he could get more than a sentence out. But Saturday morning is here before he knows it, and Louis has to meet Eleanor for lunch in half an hour. He’s all but ready and Harry is only just padding out of his room, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“There’s a cup of tea on the bench, Haz, it’s probably still warm. I’m heading out for lunch with Eleanor now, but I shouldn’t be long. What do you want me to bring home for dinner?” Because for some reason Louis thought that tucking it between two innocent sentences would completely hide the main point.

Harry freezes halfway to the kitchen. “You’re what?”

 _Yeah, no, that would’ve been_ way _too easy._  “I’m going to lunch with El, we’re just going to the cafe down the road. Management rang the other day, but, you know...we’ve been busy. Shouldn’t be too long.”

“No way. I’ll make us some omelettes and we’ll put on the telly and...” Harry’s hands are twitching as though he’s trying not to pull them into fists.

“Harry, it’s just lunch. Management was pleased with the photos and comments that turned up after last weekend so they-”

“Oh I bet they did.” Harry’s tone is acid. “After all, your acting skills have clearly improved, Lou. I think you even convinced  _her_. After all you did SLEEP WITH HER, DIDN’T YOU?”

Is it wrong that Louis feels almost relieved that Harry has - finally - started yelling at him?

“I don’t know what to say Harry, I’m so sorry. We were drunk, I thought we were just friends-”

“Like  _we_  were ‘just friends’? We both know how that one played out.”

“I never, ever meant-”

“ _DO YOU LOVE HER?_ ”

And there it is. The reason Louis has let Harry avoid this conversation for close to a week; because Louis dreaded it just as much. “I love  _you._ ”

Harry’s voice drops to almost a whisper. “Oh my god. You seriously care about her. What the  _fuck_?” Louis isn’t even sure Harry’s talking to him.

“You can’t go.”

“Harry, I have to go. I can’t just go tell management to go fuck themselves.”

“WHY NOT? I’m serious, Louis. You stay here with me, or you go to her. But if you go to her, Lou? We are done.”

How had they gotten here? Apparently Harry had been giving this more thought than he had let on. But what could Louis do? “I can’t just leave her and not say anything.”

“Send her a txt then. What? Don’t tell me you don’t txt your wee girlfriend?” Harry’s voice was hard, mocking, but they could both hear the waver.

“We both know that’s not the way to do it.”

“ _Who are you going to choose, Louis?_ ”

Louis just looks at him, hardly able to see the shining green eyes in front of him through the tears swimming in his own. “I can’t- I have to go talk to her.”

“Then I guess we’re over.” Harry’s voice cracks on the last word and Louis just stares. He has no idea how this happened, or why he can’t bring himself to stop it. He knows he could. But instead he turns for the door, picking up his keys from the table by the sofa.

“I’ll be back later.” He opens the door.

“ _I love you._ ” The plea tears through Louis.  _Why don’t I stop? Why can’t I just turn and tell him ‘screw Eleanor’? Why can’t I do it?_  He steps through the doorway.

“ _No, Louis! WAIT!_ ”

Louis closes the door behind him.

***

Just because he and Harry were falling apart behind closed doors, didn't mean that Louis and Eleanor's relationship was to be mirroring it publicly.

Louis finds himself around Eleanor more often rather than less. She is a place for him to hide, but if he's honest, it really is more than that now.  _It has to be, doesn’t it?_ After all that had happened.

When the remnants of the band finally tumble down around them, Eleanor reaches her hand to pull Louis from the rubble. He grasps on tightly; she pulls him out bruised and scarred, only a few parts lost to lie strewn in the wreckage.

She loves him and takes care of him, waiting patiently for the spark to return to his eyes.

He loves her, and lets her, waiting not so patiently for the moment to come when he will stop looking for laughing green eyes to be staring back at him every time he rounds a corner.

It's a different sort of love, but not necessarily in a bad way. Everything is...warm. Eleanor is soft curves and sweet smiles. The belly laugh comes back by degrees along with Louis' grin (it doesn't feel the same as it used to, but everything in time). Warm is good, warm is cozy, warm is safe.

But sometimes Louis misses heat; fire that burns your skin as you touch, searing down the back of your throat to the depths of your lungs, starved of oxygen, but not enough to make you part lips, not yet.

And Eleanor sees it all. Even when Louis doesn’t.

Eventually Louis figures she had enough of waiting. There’s only so long a person can be expected to hold their heart on a platter, only to be left to dry and wither, fondly looked upon, but gathering dust quietly in the corner.

***

“What’s the best thing about all this?”

“The fans, definitely. They’ve been so brilliant to us, we love you all.” Liam always likes to leap in with that; the other boys tease him afterwards. It’s not that they don’t agree, it’s just another one of their jokes, those ones that can’t help but accumulate between friends as close as they are.

“Well I love all of you!” Louis announces loudly, throwing himself across the length of the couch from his seat at the end. He ends up with his head in Harry’s lap, twinkling eyes staring up at the wide, toothy grin above him. It takes all his self-control to not pull him down and kiss his smile straight off his face. Instead he wriggles about yelling “For godssake someone help me up!” as Niall’s peals of laughter fill the room, enjoying the show from his safe perch on the sofa arm, and Zayn mutters warnings about “elbows, Tomlinson,  _ohmygod watch your knee, man_ ”.

The interviewers haven’t quite figured out how to handle them yet, raucous and laughing, five teenage boys that are having the time of their lives and who refuse to change just because that’s what’s considered proper. Most, like this one, chuckle hesitantly, waiting for an opportunity to force in the next question, to try and control the chaos sat across from them.

That night, after leaving the others to head into their respective hotel rooms, Louis shoves Harry against the back of the door and seals their mouths together with a fury. He’s been pent up with arousal ever since the interview, but they’ve been busy, someone else always around, so besides a bum pinch and a couple of lingering touches, Louis’ been left wanting.

That night, Louis swallows Harry down, still leaning against the door, holding onto the doorframe with a clamouring grip in an effort to remain upright. Louis drags him over to the bed, still shaking in the afterglow of his orgasm, and fucks him into the mattress. Neither holds back, kissing and sucking at whatever skin is within reach, breathy moans of pleasure filling the spaces between them. Louis murmurs nonsense words into Harry’s ears “You’re so fucking hot, never wanted anyone this much” _Iloveyouloveyouneverwanttostop_. Nonsense words of lovemaking that Louis didn’t know he could ever mean with such sincerity.

Afterwards they lie as one, a pile of sweaty, tangled limbs, unable to tell where one body stops and the other starts. Harry chuckles sleepily against Louis’ chest.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what brought that on?”

“Nothing.”

He feels Harry’s grin widen, then slowly disappear as he relaxes into slumber.

Louis’ final thought before he falls asleep is a simple wish.

_Let things always stay the same._

***

One Direction breaks apart by degrees.

They try to hold it together, if only in public. Even if they’re broken inside.

Louis and Zayn are talking, slowly attempting to rebuild. Louis still misses Zayn casually ruffling his hair as he swings an arm round his shoulder.

Liam rubs a comforting palm between Louis’ shoulder blades as he passes behind him. They share commiserating glances.

Harry and Zayn had always been close, they all had. Now they were almost inseparable.

Niall’s laugh still resonates through the room. But the answering echoes are a little too quiet, a little too slow. And Louis can hear the forced note some days.

Louis thinks that maybe Liam and Zayn are the only two who’s relationship hasn’t changed. But soon even they seem to have reached a breaking point. He’s not sure if it was down to Harry and Louis’ split, or whether they had finally reached a combustion point of their own, but something has happened. They are still close, but Liam acts almost like they are back in X-Factor, careful of his touches. Zayn still stares, Louis doesn’t think he knows how not to anymore, but he seems to catch himself more often than before; he will blush and look away, shaking his head, as if pissed at himself.

It doesn’t take long for the fans to notice something’s up. They had always been ridiculously perceptive, even if the majority of them still chalked it up to their own hyperactive and horny imaginations. And some of the theories floating around on the internet were actually so accurate they made Louis want to cry – because in the world of the fangirls, everything was going to work out. And Louis isn’t so convinced of that anymore.

They try. They deny any rumours of falling outs and tension within the group, with management, with the girlfriends. They focus on getting the next album out, because maybe if that goes well then everything else will magically fall back into place. They try.

Until the day they are in the studio and Harry stops mid-solo. Everyone looks askance at him, and there’s something in his expression that makes Louis’ stomach drop. Louis doesn’t often look Harry in the eye anymore, it’s too hard, and Harry isn’t often looking at him these days anyway, but this time he finds himself once again held under Harry’s gaze. His emerald eyes are asking Louis a question,  _and they always were so good at silent conversations_. Louis jerks his head slightly.  _It’s fine. Say what you need to say._

“I just- I can’t do it anymore. It’s...all these  _damn_  love songs. I just can’t fucking do it anymore. Every time I try to sing a line I want to throw up.” Tears spill down Harry’s cheeks, and he isn’t alone. Liam reaches over to him and takes his hand, squeezing sympathetically. “I love you guys, so much. But I just  _can’t_.”

And no-one even tries to argue with him.

There’s only silence.

***

“Well then. What happened?”

Louis knew this wasn’t the time to lie to Harry; to tell him that Louis had left Eleanor because she was awful and that he never knew what he saw in her. That wouldn’t help any, and Harry had always been able to cut through all Louis’ bullshit anyway.

He looked at the modest flat before him; Harry could’ve afforded something far better, Louis knew, but maybe this was a better way to pretend that One Direction, that Louis ( _although that’s a bit self-centred isn’t it_ ), had never existed. The large-ish main room was fairly sparsely decorated; a couple pieces of comfy looking furniture, the sort Harry always loved to curl up and fall asleep in; a telly; a plant in one corner, looking slightly underfed; not much else. But then Louis noticed, half tucked under one of the sofa cushions, half falling onto the floor, a blanket. It wasn’t a big one, not one of those huge, thick, fluffy ones that Louis was fond of. This one was a thin fleece blanket, navy blue, and Louis was willing to bet that one of the corners had a jagged hole from being worn as a cape until it caught on a door handle at high speed (tearing the blanket and almost choking the wearer). It was from Harry and Louis’ flat. And Harry still had it. There was still hope.

“El kicked me out tonight.” Harry looked like he was about to scoff at him but Louis shot him a glare which quickly silenced him. Louis needed to say this, for his own sake as much as anything. "It's been coming a long time I guess, but I didn't really see it...I didn't want to, not after everything. But she’d had enough; she told me to leave. No," Louis corrected himself, "she told me to go home. And so I came here."

Harry had been staring anywhere but at Louis; at the last sentence though he raised his eyes to meet Louis'. "I'm not sure I follow."

His slow, gravelly voice had lost its bitter tone, instead it sounded almost defeated. He pressed absently at slightly bloodied knuckles; that might’ve explained the thumping sound he'd heard earlier. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see the thing he'd hit; he  _was_  sure he wanted to be able to lift the injured hand to his lips, to kiss every angry red mark, to soothe Harry’s hurt.

"You've always been home to me, Harry. Always. Ever since X-Factor, since before we were anything more. You were the reason I never got homesick when we travelled the world for months at a time. With you I  _was_  home. And...and when we ended, I lost everything. I lost the band, I lost what I thought was my future, I lost my boyfriend. But more than that, I lost my  _best friend_. I lost the person I was depending on being there for the rest of my life. And I didn’t know where to go, because you left, and I still had the flat, still had Mum and the girls, but I didn’t have a home anymore.” The words had begun to tumble from Louis’ lips faster and faster, and his voice was hoarse as he tried to hold back the tears which threatened to spill over at any second. “I know you lost things too, Harry, and it’s all my fault, and I know I shouldn’t be standing here hurting you even more after so long, and I don’t want to fight with you anymore, but she told me to  _go home_ and I want to Harry, more than anything, so please, I don’t care about the terms, I will take anything just please  _please_   _can I come home_?”

Harry’s face had rapidly progressed from mildly confused, to stunned, to an expression which could only mirror what Louis felt. It was contorted with pain, tears flowing freely, as he stared at Louis with such anguish that Louis could feel his heart splintering, tearing through his scars.

When Harry spoke, it was quiet, each word rough, as though it physically hurt to speak them.

“I don’t want to fight anymore either, Louis, I never did. But I,” Harry paused to take a deep breath, and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment, “I just don’t...I don’t think I can do it, Lou. I don’t think I can go through this again.”

It was quiet, but not silent. Haggard breathing and the occasional escaped sob filled the gaps. It didn’t last long, maybe a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime.

“I think, maybe, it’d be best if you leave now, Louis.”

Louis nodded absent-mindedly. He made it to the front stoop before he broke down completely; he caught the handrail by the door to Harry’s flat, then lowered himself shakily to the wet step, allowing the rain and cold to seep into his jeans as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if that might make the memory of the last five minutes, of every minute since he first auditioned on X-Factor all those years ago, disappear to sweet blankness.

This was it.

Louis Tomlinson. Broken and alone.

Behind him, the front door swung gently open, creaking lightly, and, as a soft sigh caused him to turn his head, a sliver of yellow light lit up Louis’ features.  
  
***  
***

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Btw, the "childish joke" for those who didn't get it (idk if it's a little obscure). Basicall "there are a lot of 'but's in Louis' life". But's = butts = the type of immature joke I feel like a normal Louis would delight in. I feel like there was something else I wanted to say here but w/e. Thanks for reading. I'd love it if you commented. x


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